


Good King Arthur

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Based on a Carol, Canon Compliant, First Time, Holidays, M/M, Romance, Snow, Winter, Yuletide, festivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: When Gwen suggests Arthur do charity to spread some Yuletide cheer around, Arthur naturally enlists Merlin to help. All the while he also comes to terms with changes to their relationship that have long been a-brewing.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur/Merlin, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70
Collections: Merlin Holidays 2020





	Good King Arthur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Camelittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/gifts).



> i) Merry Holidays, Dear Camelittle! I hope this fic brings you some joy and seasonal cheer. It was written for that purpose, using your inspiring prompt featuring the Good King Wenceslas carol. I thought there was nothing more fitting the festivities than that so I chose it! Have a merry winter and awesome 2021!
> 
> ii) Many, many thanks to my two wonderful betas (* and *) who, from opposite ends of the planet, contributed to make this festive tale fit for readerly consumption. Much, much love to you, my elves!
> 
> iii) Loosely based on 'Good King Wenceslas'

In the chamber torches were burning and the fire in the fireplace was lit, lending the room a mellow golden glow that enlivened the atmosphere and warmed the place all over. Over the bed and the back of chairs soft furs were spread that rivalled in richness the carpets abundantly strewn across the shiny wooden floor. The stained glass windows that overlooked the inner courtyard were securely fastened so as to keep out the howling wind and desultory snow that cloaked both the castle and its surrounding countryside.

Ensconced inside, Gwen took a moment to enjoy the creature comforts of the keep. While the weather outside was unfriendly at best and menacing at worst, she appreciated the fact that she could stroll around the room in her soft slippers without feeling the least bit cold, and that she could savour the warmth of the space around her while the inclement Yule weather held its sway all over Albion.

Because she was in the mood for a quiet evening, she looked at the books that lay upon the table and studied their covers. With the knowledge that the slower winter days were approaching, Gwen had requested Geoffrey find her some tomes she had heard about and was interested in perusing. She could picture no better pastime for the cold season than some tranquil reading. The tomes had taken a while being delivered, for they came from great distances, not just from the most ancient libraries the Five Kingdoms could vaunt, but even from beyond the confines of the isle of Albion.

Picking the most beautiful volume, which was bound in red leather and had golden lettering for the title, she sank into the chair closest to the fire, and began reading, making interested noises here and there.

She had been at it a while, the sand in the top half of the hourglass much diminished, when the door flew open and Arthur strode in, very wet, very muddy, lips set in such a childlike pout she couldn't refrain from gently chuckling.

“I had to postpone practice,” Arthur said, sitting on the pristine bed even though he wasn't particularly spotless himself and taking off his boots. “The knights kept slipping over ice patches and a few of the young recruits complained it was too cold to train.”

Gwen sighed, but still offered Arthur a smile. “It's to be expected, Arthur. It's the last month of the year and the first of winter. When the frosts set in, it's so inclement it's but natural the knights should want to stay indoors as long as possible.”

Arthur interrupted his study his socks, one of which had a hole in it, and said, “And what happens in case of a winter war? The knights will refuse to fight because they're not all warm and toasty?”

Putting her book aside, Gwen left her chair and sat next to Arthur on their bed. “That's not what I'm talking about. Being prepared is all well and good, but morale is also important.”

Arthur turned to face her. “That's true, but you can't improvise martial skills.”

Wanting to feel close to him, Gwen leant into Arthur. “A few days without training quite so hard will only make the men happier. Don't you want them to be happier, Arthur?”

Arthur frowned in deep thought, concentrating hard on the question. “Of course I want them to be of good cheer.”

“Then indulge them a little.” Gwen ruffled Arthur's hair. She liked its consistency, its softness to the touch. She enjoyed touching her husband; she derived as much comfort from it as she gave. “Relax a little. 'Tis the season.”

As he considered the suggestion, Arthur hummed softly. “You're right. The knights need some pick me up and the rest of the population does as well.”

Gwen couldn't help but nod in agreement. This view of things coincided with hers. “It certainly does. Especially when a holiday such as Yule draws near.”

Still steeped in thought, Arthur stared ahead, “So what should I do? How do I go about it and achieve that?”

Fortunately, Gwen had just the idea. “I've been reading this book.” Because he wasn't too fond of books, Arthur made a face, but Gwen was determined to plough on. “It tells, among others, the tale of a King.”

“Like me then.” Arthur dimpled at her and Gwen elbowed him a little.

“Yes, like you. Arthur.” Gwen rested her head on Arthur's shoulder and wrapped her arm around him. “In the tale the King of Bohemia goes on a journey during the harshest days of winter to give alms to the poor and needy. He presses a gold coin into their hands and blesses them and they're made happier than they were.”

“Then I shall do that!” Arthur jumped up, his body now geared for motion, activity. He had a plan. “I will spread joy among the people of Camelot!”

Gwen hadn't even managed to tell the rest of the story or make her point, but Arthur was already muttering to himself, preparing his battle plan, and Gwen could put almost no word in.

She had almost succeeded in getting Arthur's attention again, when Merlin came in, looking wet and cold and miserable, his nose somewhat blue and his fingers red from the frost, saying, “Oh no, not again, Arthur!”

“Do you enjoy being cryptic, Merlin?” Arthur asked, as he contemplated the weary, long face Merlin was making. “Make yourself make sense, will you! It's not so hard.”

Merlin started speaking a little inchoately, firing more words per minute than Gwen had believed possible, pointing at the bed and the boots with an outraged air. “Mud, mud everywhere. How did you manage to spray mud everywhere! It's not even dry. How do you even... I changed the sheets yesterday, and they smelled of camphor then. I used Gaius' dried herbs because there's no camphor plants left alive in this cold and do you know what it takes to read Gaius' teeny tiny writing on those labels?”

Arthur frowned, his face set in a confused moue. “What are you even talking about, Merlin?”

“I'm talking about the mess you made.” Merlin had his hands in his hair by now and his horrified expression was almost funny.

“Stop thinking about such trivial things; we have a mission!”

Gwen had already guessed what that was about but Arthur was so enthusiastic about it; she felt it wasn't her place to break the news to Merlin.

“What mission?” Merlin seemed appalled. His eyes tracked Arthur, ready to suss out the truth.

Arthur stopped his pacing and placed both hands on Merlin's shoulder. “We,” he said, smiling widely, “are going to spread good cheer among the people of Camelot.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Good cheer? How?”

“By way of good deeds.” Arthur was full of his new plans, engrossed by them.

“Does your plan involve going out again?” Merlin asked, throwing a glance at the window. “Because I've already frozen my bum off on the training ground, trailing after you.”

“It does involve that,” Arthur said. “How can I perform good deeds from my chambers, Merlin, uh?

Merlin's expression mellowed, filling, as it often did, with admiration for Arthur. “Good deeds eh?”

“Yes, Merlin.” Arthur kneaded Merlin's shoulders. “Good deeds.”

Even though affection clearly showed in Merlin's eyes, he seemed less enthused about Arthur's plans than he generally was. “So we are defying the bitter cold again, are we?”

“Why, Merlin, I thought you were a hands on person, enterprising when it came to the good of others.” Arthur tutted, though Gwen could tell he wasn't serious, causing Merlin to scowl. “Do you mean to be so selfish as to deprive your fellow men of their Yule rewards, and all because you feel a little bit chilly?”

Before Merlin could start a riot, Gwen intervened. She kissed Arthur on the cheek and took Merlin's hand in hers. “Perhaps you could start tomorrow, once Merlin has thawed somewhat?”

Merlin looked at her as if she'd just saved his life, then at Arthur, but not beseechingly, as might have been expected, but rather, defiantly.

Arthur emitted a faux long suffering sigh, “Very, well. We'll start tomorrow.”

Merlin had started smiling his toothy smile, when Arthur harrumphedd. Full of suspicion, Merlin narrowed his eyes.

“Given that we're not going out, you can perform your normal duties by cleaning my chamber and changing the linens.”

Gwen sighed and watched as Merlin went to fetch a bucket and came back muttering insults directed at a certain crowned head under his breath. Gwen would have intervened, but she knew that this was part of Merlin and Arthur's normal relationship. They teased each other and wound each other up. Arthur nagged and Merlin protested. But that was only make believe. She had long understood that they loved each other dearly and all their ragging was an odd offshoot of that. Boys would be boys, she wagered.

Unable to have her say unless she compelled Merlin and Arthur to have a heart to heart, Gwen sat on the chair she had occupied before, opened her book, and only half listened as Merlin cleaned and Arthur pointed out his oversights, in short, while her husband and his manservant bickered on and on and on.

Some things, she thought, would never change.

**** 

Though he had fain indulged in the comfort of sleep a while longer, Arthur woke earlier than usual. Gwen was still slumbering by his side, her eyes fluttering in a dream he hoped was pleasant. Not wanting to disturb her, he slipped out of bed, washing in haste and trying to make as little noise as possible. Dressed in his most comfortable clothes, he picked up his boots and went downstairs.

Even if he theoretically shouldn't, he knew the way to Gaius' workshop by heart, not so much because he had any hypochondriac proclivities, but because someone had to fetch Merlin from his lodgings whenever he was late. Tardiness in servants shouldn't be indulged, though to be honest, Arthur wasn't as punctual himself as he would have liked, and Merlin tended to wake him up on more mornings than not. What was it with his 'up and at them, lazy daisy' spiel, Arthur didn't know, but he was certainly looking forward to repaying Merlin in kind.

When he got into the workshop, Gaius was having breakfast. He was munching on some rather uninviting sticky gruel with sleepy determination. Asked where Merlin was, he pointed Arthur towards the room at the back of the workshop.

Arthur didn't knock. He opened the door and went to the bed. Merlin was sleeping prone, his nose pressed against his pillow, his mouth slightly open, his face utterly relaxed. He was almost cute, certainly endearing, but that didn't stop Arthur from wanting to wreak a little mischief. Ever so gently, he leant over, a smile crossing his face. Then he shouted at the top of his voice, “Wake up, Merlin, time to shine!”

So prompted, Merlin somersaulted in bed, eyes wide and a little golden in the morning light. Foggy, he looked around, and then he focused on Arthur, and scowled. “It's early,” he said in a cavernous tone that had the mark of sleep about it. “Why did you wake me up, tyrant?”

Arthur sat on Merlin's bed, pushing Merlin aside, so he had to lie right at the edge of it. “Because you're my servant, Merlin, and you're supposed to be at my beck and call.”

Merlin growled, but he didn't manage to say anything that made sense, other than, “Umph, so what now?

“Now,” Arthur told him rather gleefully, “we go spread some Yuletide joy.”

“Uh, I'd forgotten.” Merlin seemed less happy about the task than Arthur thought he would be.

Merlin, after all, was always full of goodwill for others. He was perennially talking in favour of the downtrodden, pleading the peasant cause, making himself heard about issues regarding the welfare of commoners. Still, perhaps, he was less of a fighter this early in the morning. It didn't matter; Arthur had set his heart on this.

Muttering under his breath, Merlin padded over to the washstand and removed his shirt.

Arthur looked away, but even so he caught a glimpse of pale flesh and a tapered torso, and he couldn't deny that the sight had driven some warmth into his cheeks, accelerated his heartbeat. Since this wouldn't do, he steadfastly looked at the tiny window to his left instead. And while Merlin complained about the early wake up call, Arthur blamed himself for letting thoughts surface in his brain that had no place in it.

Thankfully, before long Merlin was ready and if not raring to go, then at least wide awake enough to do so.

As he followed Arthur down the stairs, he asked, “I still don't see what your plan is.”

Arthur was a man of action. He felt more like showing Merlin what he meant to do than telling him about it. Perhaps this was because if he told him, he'd be doing nothing more than repeating Gwen's words. And while he loved and respected his wife and was grateful to her for always advising him for the best, he wanted to make this enterprise his own. Or maybe he just enjoyed stringing Merlin along – at least a little. “You will in a short while.”

Together, they took the stairs that led to the subterranean dungeons. As they descended deeper into the darkness that reigned in this part of the castle, their mood suited itself to the environs. While torches illuminated stairways and corridor, the loss of natural sunlight engendered a state of everlasting gloom. How did the prisoners inside cope? Arthur admitted the place wasn't of the cheeriest, but prisons weren't meant to be jolly, were they?

Noticing where he was being led, Merlin looked at him wonderingly, a little tension working itself in his jaw.

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him forward. They stopped by a double wooden door that had iron lever handles. He knocked and a guard accoutred in a Camelot red surcoat ushered them into the guardroom, which was occupied by three of the men's colleagues. Two were sitting at a small table, a pair of lacquer red dice still rolling between them before settling on a two and four. Another guard was sleeping in an embrasure, head thrown black, mouth set widely open in a snore.

The guard who had opened the door loudly cleared his throat and the two dice players stood to attention, while the sleeper was roughly awakened and jumped up, saluting out of reflex.

Arthur almost wanted to reprimand them. This certainly wasn't the way to handle guard duty. If the wardens were otherwise engaged, then the prisoners could try to escape to their hearts' content. But, Arthur reminded himself, he hadn't come here to submit these turnkeys to a dressing down. Quite the contrary. He tried to think what his wife would do. She would be lenient and nice. At least this once and on this particular occasion. So Arthur let out a little whistling breath, calmed himself, and tried to appear as kingly as he could. “Men, I've come here at the start of the Yule Season with a precise intent.” Arthur might have rehearsed that speech overnight, so it wasn't exactly spontaneous, but kingship was about image, the impression you cut. His father had inadvertently taught him that. Arthur firmly believed he could inspire his subjects to be their best selves, if he only was a good enough example and reined them in with some personal charisma. “You've been in the employ of the crown for a long time--”Arthur was about to close an eye on the fact that their performance today was a little less than stellar. “--and you've done so loyally, working in a sombre environment that isn't always them most gratifying. At this time of year I mean to acknowledge your efforts. As Yuletide approaches, I intend, in fact, to reward you for your pains.”

He placed four little velvet pouches closed with a string on the table. Anyone could see that they were weighty items.

The guards shared looks of hope even while they stayed put, cautious of Arthur's authority.

Arthur said, “It's for you, my men. Each of you has earned a Yule gratuity, so to speak. Spend it well and enjoy.”

The guards abandoned all prudence. They exulted, they cheered. One opened a little wooden cabinet and took out a bottle. He unstoppered it and poured wine for all, giving Arthur the cleanest cup of the lot. “Long live the King,” they chanted. “Long live gracious King Arthur.”

Arthur was both pleased by this reaction and a little embarrassed by it. Like any man, he liked praise, but he wasn't exactly used to manifestations of it, not with the strict father he'd had. The guards' toast had gone a little overboard considering how little he'd done. Nevertheless, he drank the wine he'd been offered. It was cheap, with a slight vinegar after-taste, and he was used to better, but he didn't say as much. He had an idea neither Gwen nor Merlin would approve if he did.

Once these formalities were done with, he and Merlin left the guard room.

Merlin was still smacking his lips together as if tasting the dregs of the wine, when Arthur asked, “So what did you think of that?”

“Well,” Merlin said, as they took the stairs back up. “I think I know what your plan is.”

“Isn't it a good one?” Comparatively, Arthur knew, the guards made little, and while they weren't the hardest of workers they're duties were dull. This would help them have a little extra for the season. “Now those guards can pamper themselves a little.”

Though he wasn't out of breath, Merlin stopped climbing the stairs. “Arthur, yours isn't a bad idea at all. It was thoughtful.”

Arthur sensed a but coming. He forced himself to enquire what that was about.

Merlin exhaled loudly. “If you want to give gifts to the needy, your guards aren't at the top of the list. I mean they may not be the richest inhabitants of Camelot, but they have lodgings, their food is ensured, and they can afford to carouse at the Rising Sun often enough.”

Arthur tried on a joke that was sure, thanks to the history between them, to evoke a sense of the understanding he had with Merlin, even though it was couched in the form of teasing. “And you would know, wouldn't you?”

“I told you, I'm not a regular.” Merlin rolled his eyes, but kept on smiling. “What I meant was that there are more disadvantaged people than our prison guards.”

Arthur thought about it. He had just been trying to spread some cheer, show his goodwill. That was what Gwen had suggested. He believed he had done a nice thing by the guards. Surely, they hadn't seen that much gold in years, if ever. But perhaps Merlin was right. He had more direct experience when it came to the lower classes. He had an eye on the pulse of things. So, even if Arthur didn't like his ideas being picked at, he supposed, Merlin could help him achieve his goal. He was as wise as Gwen, though in a more chaotic way. “So who do you think should be the recipient of my beneficence?”

“Oh I have long list of people who'd benefit from some help.” Merlin looked as if he was making up said list in his mind. “I could share.”

“I hope it doesn't start with you,” Arthur said, making sure his tone was prim enough to best work on Merlin's nerves. “I told you, I won't cut your hours.”

Merlin stuck his tongue out at him. “No, you tyrant. I've given up all hope of that.”

Since they were on a roll, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the nape of the neck as he would a recalcitrant puppy. Merlin's skill was warm and strangely soft, smelling of the rough herbal soap Gaius made in his workshop. It was a scent Arthur knew well, one that reminded him of home and the simple things. “Who are you calling tyrant?”

“You, my lord.” Merlin said it right in his face, his breath mingling with Arthur's.

Getting a good hold of him that Merlin had done nothing to fight free of, Arthur backed him against the stone wall, making sure Merlin wouldn't hurt himself the while, for Merlin was clumsy and if someone – and that someone Arthur – didn't watch out for him, he would come to harm. But the thought of unpleasant things dissolved the moment he found himself so close to Merlin as to be able to taste his breath fan over Arthur's own face. Merlin's exhalations came a little more quickly now, their rhythm heightened. “I'll have you know that I'm a very fair king.”

Even as he looked him right in the eye, Merlin chuckled. “Yes, sire.”

To be entirely honest, Arthur's thoughts weren't on his Yule gift giving plan anymore. They had wandered off, one might say, to other pastures, and were currently engaged upon Merlin. There was something oddly pleasing to his defiance. There was something admirable about it. He went head to head with Arthur; he made himself heard. And when he did, he flushed and smiled and stood prouder and taller and that was enticing. So much so Arthur wasn't sure he knew where he was going, neither with his crowding of Merlin, nor with his scheme. He said the first thing that came to mind so as not to have to dwell on his present quandary, “I'll ask you counsel. Who should I help next?”

Merlin's eyes dance with merriment. “Trust it to me.”

Arthur was ready to say that he did trust Merlin on principle, and he would on this occasion too. This confidence he had in Merlin came naturally to him by now. It was part and parcel of who he was. But he couldn't admit as much outright. “Are you sure I can charge you with this, Merlin?” He made a show of eyeing Merlin suspiciously. “You're rather scatter-brained; wouldn't it prove too much for you?”

Merlin pinched Arthur's flank. “It won't. I know more about poverty than you do, sire.”

Arthur had to concede. But he didn't back off. Not right away. He gave it a few seconds, and then put some space between himself and Merlin. It was only seemly. “Well then, tomorrow we'll visit some charity upon a person of your choice, Merlin.”

Though Merlin had made his point and won this round, he didn't seem as happy with the outcome as Arthur had thought he would be. Merlin usually crowed when he had his way. He stressed his point and told Arthur he should listen more. This time he didn't. He just sighed and made a great to do about dusting himself, brushing close to Arthur as he moved past him. He was a few treads further up the stairs, when he called out, “But I choose the time. You can't wake people up at dawn, even if you come loaded with presents.”

Arthur privately agreed, but he only grunted his assent, for it wouldn't do to let Merlin have his way with so little fight.

****

The following morning dawned sunny and bright, but it was snowing. A fine fall of snowflakes dusted the roofs and pavements of Camelot. It accumulated on window sills and upon doorsteps. It whitened the streets, barring the spots where cart tracks muddied all the candour, and loaded the tops of trees clustering together in the distance.

Because he had had leisure to sleep some more this morning, Merlin was in a good mood. He wore a cheeky, happy grin and he had an energetic way about him, stalking forwards with great ambling strides. He was telling Arthur about how he loved the season. “Can't you smell it on the air?” he said. “It smells like snow and mistletoe.” He held his nose up in the air like a dog, cutting a weird but endearing picture. “And like hearth fires too.”

Arthur told him, “There's no such a thing as air smelling like snow. At most, you can sense the frost. As for the other thing, it's quite normal, Merlin. People will light fires to chase away the cold.”

“You don't have a poetic bone in your body, have you?” Merlin asked, still happily bouncing along. “You just don't get the magic of the season, do you?”

Together they proceeded along a street that led from the top of the citadel to the very heart of the old town. Private houses lined the thoroughfare, those of wealthy burghers lying closest to the castle. Most of them were festively arrayed, displaying boughs of holly and candles in the window, ribbons curlicuing around their frames. Red-berried holly, and glossy ivy garlanded the doors of both private dwellings and little shops. But as they moved past this district, the decorations became fewer, sometimes downright non-existent, and the upkeep of the buildings became sloppier, with tiles coming off roofs, no glass in windows, and ramshackle partitions that looked they wouldn't last a fortnight longer.

As a rule, Arthur seldom came here. He simply had no call to. Duty kept him in the castle, or patrolling borders. When Gwen was a maiden, she lived not far from this area, a few streets further to the north of it. But her neighbourhood had been different. There had dwelt traders and dealers, shopkeepers and artisans, men like Tom, who weren't rich by any stretch of the imagination, but who had a flourishing business and enjoyed some renown.

Here there was no trace of that. Arthur spied neither shop fronts nor trading stalls. The houses in sight were small and dingy, crowding together like frogs in a puddle. The sewers were open and the side alleys so dark they were draped in perennial night.

As he contemplated the squalor around him, anger rose to his gorge. Why had no one told him a part of Camelot lay is such dire straits? Why had he not asked? The welfare of his people mattered to him, so why hadn't he verified the conditions the citizenry laboured under himself? His jaw tightened and his hands balled into fists. He looked around, blaming himself for his wilful blindness, his ignorance, every sign of dilapidation a stockade against his sense of fairness.

Likely divining this, Merlin turned around and studied his face. He must have realised what thoughts were whirling through Arthur's brain, for he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, and smiled at him with encouragement, squeezing when Arthur's muscles tried to go rigid out of anger. “Let's knock,” he said, rapping his knuckles against a flimsy wooden door.

An old man opened. He was stooped and bearded and had broken rivet glasses sitting on his nose. When he saw Merlin, he smiled a gladdened smile that showed the holes in place of his missing teeth. “Merlin, what a pleasure to see you! How long has it been?” Just as Merlin answered that it had been too long, he said, “but come in, come in.” Showing no recognition of Arthur, he added, “ And your friend too.”

Arthur followed Merlin inside. Arthur had expected to be hit by some warmth as he entered. But it was as cold in this front parlour as it was outside. There was no fire in the hearth and the windows, which gave onto one of those ill-lit back streets Arthur had spied before were paneless. Only one candle illuminated the surroundings, showing all the hallmarks of a humble abode. There were no settees or recliners in here. Just a few chairs, a table ornamented with a few broken candlesticks, and a slim cupboard occupied this space. Pots and pans hung from the rafters in the proximity of the still hearth, but there was no trace of food hereabouts.

Once they were all under the same roof, the owner dusted off a couple of the chairs and said, “Sit down, sit down. How have you been, Eoghan?”

“Same old, same old, but not unwell,” Eoghan said, asking the same of Merlin.

Merlin nudged his head in the direction of one of the vacant chairs and took one himself. “Fine, fine.” He winked at Arthur. “Being the King's servant is tough – up at all hours – but I'm well.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” The owner said, smiling widely in support of his words. “You deserve all health and happiness, Merlin.”

Merlin blushed, but ploughed forward. “And how's retirement been?”

The old owner's countenance fell, but his tone remained stoically cheery. “Not all it's cracked up to be. After the Lady Morgana captured Camelot, my shop was looted and I was left with just a little.” He indicated the few defective candlesticks to be found on the table. “But I have a roof over my head and my daughter writes that she's doing well in Queen Annis' kingdom. I can't complain.”

Arthur didn't know this man's full history, but even the few words he had heard sufficed to tell him he and his family were to blame for his dereliction. If Arthur had managed to make Morgana see reason, if he had somehow averted her attacks, Eoghan would still have his business and be better off. But, just as he hadn't succeeded in shielding others of his kind, he hadn't managed to protect him.

Even as Arthur's thoughts crowded in his brain, Merlin said, “Gaius says he will have new spectacles ready for you in time for Yule, Eoghan.”

Eoghan reddened and faltered. “I'm very much obliged. Indeed very much. But perhaps another time.” He once again eyed the distorted, darkened candlesticks. “In spring. Spring would be a perfect time for new spectacles, so much more to see then.”

“But Gaius is almost done,” Merlin said with a gentleness that camouflaged his insistence. “He means to give them to you in time for the holidays. He also meant to ask--” He cleared his throat. “--if you could give him one of your candlesticks in return. You know, for the workshop. Light is scant there and Gaius' own vision is suffering from it.”

Arthur gave another look at the candlesticks. In the shape they were in, they were worth nothing. They were so blackened in places; they had to have withstood fire. It was lucky they hadn't melted. Merlin must know it, and yet, in asking for one, he made of the spectacles a transaction and not a gift. Given how relieved Eoghan looked at Merlin's words, Merlin had guessed right. Eoghan wanted no charity.

He, in fact, said, “Well, if he's all but finished the job, it would be bad form refusing. Tell Gaius I'll have the girandole candelabrum ready for him by next week. It's one of my best ones. I'll give it a thorough clean, tell Gaius not to worry about that.”

Merlin told the candlestick-maker that he felt sure Gaius would be happy with whichever item Eoghan chose.

“But may I offer you and your friend something?” Eoghan asked, indicating a pot. “I have some of the rosemary tisane Gaius made. It's cold, but it's good for you I'm told.”

To make the old man happy, Merlin accepted, so Eoghan poured them some of the left over brew in small chipped cups and handed them round. Even coming close to Arthur, he didn't recognise his sovereign. Arthur supposed Eoghan had never seen him up close and with those cracked spectacles, he couldn't make out much. Of this Arthur was strangely glad. Making a big production of his generosity appeared wrong to him right now.

So he pushed the money pouch he'd prepared back into his breeches' pocket and sipped at the cold tisane, trying to swallow as little of it as possible, it being unpalatable.

Once they were done with the concoction, they left the old man, followed by a stream of benedictions and well wishes.

When Arthur and Merlin were once again on the street, when Merlin said, “You did a good thing there withholding the money.” Admiration overspread Merlin's features, putting a smile on his face that could have melted stone. “You don't often act like it, but you're not such a huge prat as you make out to be.” He took a breath that took the sting out of the moniker. “Sometimes, you can be a great guy Arthur.”

Arthur wanted to bask in the glow of Merlin's smile, in the warmth of his regard. Getting Merlin's approbation wasn't as easy as all that, so it was all the more precious. But as much as he wanted to sink in his praise and let it fan his amour propre, Arthur looked away. “I haven't done anything.”

“You showed tact, understanding.” Merlin was warming to his topic. “You saw what was right to do and did it.”

That was too little, too late. Arthur had let a slice of the population grow hungry. He had looked the other way as they lived on in ghastly conditions, straitened circumstances. What sort of king was he? He had made the choices, he had fashioned or confirmed laws that failed to take care of the population, and, above all, he had let his subjects down. But that was no excuse for not doing anything now. Now he had been made aware of the facts, he would remedy them. “I'll commission Eoghan a hundred pieces, paying in advance so he can purchase the materials. I'll pay him an inflated price, so he can set up another booth to replace the one destroyed in the siege of Camelot.” He took a breath because he had spoken too quickly while trying to rush his ideas out. “And I'll have this whole area overhauled. I'll build new clean, spacious houses in place of these ones.” He gestured around. “I'll have gutters cleaned and the old Roman sewers reactivated. I'll sign the order today. And make sure these works are carried out by the year's wend.”

Merlin beamed at him, nodding his head in approbation. “That is a wonderful Yule gift for all the people of Camelot, Arthur. One that will serve them well.”

“But is it enough?” Arthur asked, looking around at his deprived surroundings. “Tell me, Merlin, is it?”

Merlin placed both hands on Arthur's shoulder, their imprint spreading body heat through Arthur even on this cold day. He moved close so they could lock gazes. There was no escaping the affection in Merlin's, his stubborn loyalty, his committed steadfastness that made Arthur wonder what he had done to deserve it, to inspire it. He had no idea but he couldn't help firing at it.

Merlin told him, “You're doing a good thing here, Arthur. You're but one man and can't take on everything, but you can do well, and this is proof of it.”

Arthur swallowed hard. He couldn't tell Merlin that he sometimes doubted himself, his innate nature. Was he really a good man? A decent one? Would a good man, like Merlin assuredly was, end up being disappointed in him? He hadn't the faintest. “I--”

Intuiting Arthur's second was guessing of himself, Merlin placed a hand on his heart. “You're a good king and a good man, Arthur. You will make Camelot flourish.”

An onrush of positivity spread through Arthur. When Hearing Merlin's words, he felt he could reach for the sky, achieve all he wanted to accomplish. But that wasn't all. He felt a drive that pushed him towards Merlin, made him rejoice in his presence, a joyful, exhilarating wave of gladness that replaced all doubt with satisfaction. He couldn't express his feelings; there were so many reasons for that, but for all that, he didn't put any physical distance between himself and Merlin. Somehow that was too hard. He said, “Feeling optimistic, eh, Merlin?”

And that put an end to the spell, Merlin gave him a jocular push, and Arthur rolled his eyes, and Merlin said, “Race you back to the castle”, and they were on their way back, many words left unsaid, but heady contentment dwelling in Arthur's heart.

****

The following morning Merlin brought him his fur-lined cloak, riding boots and leather gloves. When he was done, he gave Arthur a once over, as if checking he passed muster and could weather the cold that was still raging outside. Once he was satisfied with how he had accoutred Arthur, he strapped his sword to his side. Usually Arthur let no one touch his sword; no one but Merlin that was. While Merlin had no solemn respect of martial rituals or the brotherhood of arms, he understood how much Arthur depended on his sword, how much it felt like a part of him, and he treated that weapon with all the due care. So Arthur let him handle it; more, he was almost glad when Merlin did. He didn't know why or how exactly that was, but he couldn't help feeling at ease when Merlin touched it.

“So what other hare-brained idea have you got for today?” Arthur waggled his eyebrows. “How can I better spread cheer among the people of Camelot?”

“Gwen and I have agreed on the best course of action,” Merlin met Gwen's gaze over Arthur's shoulder. “Children are the ones who love Yule best, so it's children who'll next benefit from your munificence.”

Gwen took a sip of her morning brew and laughed. “We've got it all sorted.”

Arthur wished they had let him do more, organised whatever they'd cooked up, himself. But he was glad his wife and Merlin got along, that they had had a rapport from before he'd ever married her. He felt no envy at that. He couldn't imagine trusting anyone more than he did Gwen and Merlin. Besides, Gwen could steady Merlin's whirlwind energy and Merlin could guard and comfort Gwen when Arthur couldn't or wasn't around to do it.

“In that case, I suppose,” Arthur said, “I'll let you lead on.”

Merlin bowed in courtly fashion. He was overdoing it, a smile pulling at his lips all the way. He ought to have been ridiculous, the way he mocked the traditions of nobility, cloaking them with peasant insouciance. But though he had been born at court, Arthur couldn't help thinking Merlin had it right. It was all a bit too much sometimes and Merlin was one of the few people who took Arthur and his titles at face value. Even so, he grabbed Merlin by the neck and directed him to the door, as if he was annoyed. He tsked. “It wouldn't do to waste time, Merlin, or your children will be disappointed.”

Laughing still, Gwen wished them a good day, still keeping the secret as to where they were going.

A stable boy brought his horse out into the courtyard, but Arthur waited before mounting, checking first that Merlin got in the saddle without falling face first in the mulch that littered the courtyard. Once Merlin was perched on horseback and restraining his mount, Arthur got on his horse. Together, they rode through the gates of the castle and through the streets of the town, snow flecking the mane of their rides and starting to collect on the cobblestones.

Fortunately, they weren't headed far. At the foot of the citadel stood a low building made of stone bricks. A walkway punctuated by arches led to its door. Before it carts being unloaded by castle servants idled. The servants, many of whom Arthur recognised, carried these boxes inside.

“What are they doing?” Arthur asked, observing the coming and going with a curiosity he wished he could suppress. “And what is this place?”

“They are carrying out your orders.” Merlin led him to the entrance. “Well, Gwen and I chose the way in which your orders should be carried out, but we felt we stayed true to your original intent.”

A neat and tidy woman dressed in the clothing of the peasantry came up to him. She had a hopeful, sincere way about her. She curtsied a little, though clumsily and not in way of the court, and said in earnest tones, “We thank you for your gift, Your Majesty.” She gestured towards the boxes and crates that were still being lugged inside. “Thanks to you our children will have enough to eat and amuse themselves with all through winter. We couldn't be more grateful.”

Arthur was starting to put two and two together. At least he now knew what was in the boxes and what sort of children the young woman was talking about. He wished he could have sounded less surprised when he said, “Children are the future of Camelot and I hope they won't stand in need of anything ever again.”

The woman smiled and tried another courtesy.

Arthur took her hands in his and said, “You don't have to.”

She reddened all over, earnestly and prettily. “Thank you, Sire.”

“You could have told me.” Arthur murmured the words to Merlin as they followed the young woman into a more inner chamber. “I like to be prepared.”

“This is not the battlefield, Arthur.” Merlin smiled as they were greeted by a horde of loud children standing in a row. “It's just an orphanage.”

Arthur would have liked to reply. For one his wife and Merlin had done this behind his back. They had chosen the venue and the type of gift he was to give. He would have liked some input. For another, Merlin was being way too cheeky. But he had no time, for the young woman, whom Arthur now deduced was the children's caretaker, cleared her throat, begging for attention.

“Since they are so thankful,” she said, her arms extending outwards as if she meant to encompass all the little ones, “the children wish to give Your Majesty a return gift.”

The young caretaker stood aside, and at her cue, the children started singing a merry winter song. They weren't hitting all the right notes, and some of them were even mumbling the wrong lyrics, but the result, Arthur couldn't deny, was rather endearing. The little ones were giving it their all, being as loud and jolly as they could possibly be. The older ones were trying to corral the younger ones in some kind of musical order and their caretaker was conducting them to the best of her abilities. And if this wasn't an excellent example of minstrelsy, Arthur was more amused and pleased than he had been by any jongleur.

Merlin nudged closer. “They're cute, aren't they?”

Arthur couldn't but agree. Even though they certainly had a chequered history, the children were trying their best to please him. It tugged at his heart strings, the more so since they shouldn't have to perform at all in order to get some support and charity. “Yes. They deserve more.”

Merlin hummed softly. “Yes.”

When the spectacle was over, the children all dropped a bow or curtsey, and their caretaker came over to Arthur and Merlin and said, “I hope you enjoyed our little show. We hadn't much time to prepare, but we all tried our best.”

Arthur made sure to smile at all the little ones, but he had something important to say that went beyond formalities and niceness. He wasn't good at the former, but he sincerely hoped he would prove better at effecting change. He addressed the orphanage community. “I thank you for your warm welcome and your heartfelt performance. I know for one that it made my day a thousand times better.” He wasn't good at speaking from the heart. He had his own idea of justice, but when it came to connecting to people, he wasn't as good as Merlin, who certainly had the gift of moving others' hearts. But he would do his best, because he was king and it was his duty. “What I need you to know is that the gift you received this year is not a one off.” Simple words would serve him best. “You'll receive exactly such a one in the years to come and for as long as Camelot as a king.”

The oldest of the children, who had fully grasped Arthur's meaning, cheered and clapped; the younger ones seemed a little confused, but when they were told what Arthur's words meant they, too ,grinned and beamed.

“And that is not all.” He filled his lungs with air. “A yearly gift is but poor charity.”

The caretaker looked as if she feared he would withdraw the gift.

Arthur hurried on to speak. “It doesn't alter these children's circumstances or prospects. It doesn't help in the long run. If we want our orphans to prosper, we will have to look after them in other ways too. Henceforth, they shall be the King's wards. They will have access to the Palace School.” There wasn't one yet in Camelot, but that didn't mean they couldn't put Geoffrey's learning to good use. If the project took off, they might hire other scholars too. “Once they come of age, they will receive training in whatsoever trade they choose. They will have preferential access to the knights’ corps as well as access to many palace jobs.” It didn't seem like much, but it was the only starting place he could think of. “Once they can stand on their own, they'll have their choice of future and they'll help build the Camelot I dream of.”

While the foundlings didn't look as happy with this plan as they had been about the yearly Yule gift, their caretaker was in tears. Arthur could see she wanted to thank him again, profusely. Because he didn't think he deserved such outpourings of gratitude, Arthur claimed his royal schedule was busy and left the premises.

He was trifling with his horse's reins, when Merlin said, “That was better than anything Gwen or I could conceive.”

That was actually unfair, for both of them couldn't legislate the way he could. “You showed me my deficiencies. I'm trying to make up for them.”

Arthur mounted.

Merlin's gaze kept following him. “We're not trying to point out your mistakes, you know that.” He looked as though he suspected Arthur of doing just that. “We don't have all the solutions any more than you do. And some things will take decades to achieve.”

Arthur bowed his head even as his hand tightened around the reins. “It shouldn't be the case. I should have done better both as prince and king.”

“Arthur.” Merlin had whispered his name, infusing it with so much power and faith it sounded like an enchantment. “You can't improve society in a day. But your commitment, your natural instincts for what is right, make you an outstanding king.” He was warming to his subject, fire in his words and eyes. “Camelot has a bright future ahead and that's principally because of you, Arthur. I'm already looking forward to all that you will achieve.”

Bowled over by Merlin's words, Arthur didn't know how to respond. He only knew that Merlin made him want to be better, made him want to surpass expectations. And it wasn't just because he wanted to do well by his people, but also because he wanted to deserve all that Merlin was already giving him without asking. His love and support. But didn't that put him in an untenable position? Didn't it push him in directions he shouldn't consider? In spite of the deep yearning inside him, he sighed and attempted not to let his thoughts show. “I can only try and do well, can't I, Merlin?” Gifted at sifting Arthur's moods, Merlin understood that Arthur wanted to close the subject. He climbed into the saddle and Arthur told him, “Let's go back to the castle.”

Together they spurred their horses towards the high walls of the citadel.

****

Yule itself was approaching. The seasonal activities the court had organised for the season were in full stride. There were events designed for children, like puppeteering shows, and dances geared towards the older members of the court. A boxing competition had declared its Yule champion earlier that day, and tilting was now taking place in the courtyard.

The tilt yard was surrounded by a palisade; its ground gravelled and sanded so as to prevent as many accidents as possible. At its centre were the targets. From a wooden frame's high crossbeams, hung differently coloured rings, around which gay ribbons were threaded.

Under a heavy canopy fretted with gold, Arthur and Gwen, in their best finery, sat at the very top of the tournament stands to oversee the proceedings. There was a wide gap between their private balcony and the area reserved for all the other nobles, but that didn't mean the din of loud conversation didn't reach them.

The lists were currently empty, as fresh participants were still preparing for action in the nearby tents. So far the knight from Caerleon had proved the best at the contest with two well aimed thrusts and one miss. But the best rider, in Arthur's opinion, came from the far Hebrides. He had the best seat and most governable beast of all, a white palfrey Arthur wanted to see more of.

“I much prefer tilting to jousting,” Gwen said, her hands in her lap. “At least with tilting no overgrown man will hurt the other in mock combat.”

“You share your opinion of martial prowess with Merlin,” Arthur said, unable to voice a connection that had been on his brain all week long. “And even with a spectacle that better suits his tastes; he's made a point to give the occasion a miss.”

Unexpectedly, Gwen laughed. “Ah, Merlin, yes.”

Arthur tilted his head towards his spouse. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell you miss him already.” she said, watching the public in the lower stands. She had managed to make herself intelligible over their din without letting anyone but Arthur hear. “I'm not blind, Arthur.”

What did Gwen mean? Had she seen through him? How could she have, when even Arthur always second guessed himself? And if she had, had he disappointed her greatly? He wished with all that he had that he hadn't. He hoped she saw how devoted he was to her. And yet wouldn't she think he was lying? Gwen had made great sacrifices to be with him. She had waited when others wouldn't have. She had made no request for herself, while attracting envy and malice for the very reason she had stuck her lot with him. And now this. “I do not mean to be anything other than a good husband to you, Guinevere.”

Gwen watched as a new participant rode his mount to the starting point of the lists. Since he wore Camelot’s colours, he received a clamour of applause. Gwen waited for it to die down before murmuring in his ear, “You are the best of husbands.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. He couldn't accept these words of praise, for he was failing her. “I--”

“There's nothing wrong with loving, Merlin.” She squeezed his hand, the imprint of her palm comforting.

Arthur wanted to reply, but the knight in the lists had just gathered his reins, adjusted his spur, and incited his horse to a hefty trot. Only when the audience held its collective breath, did he speak again. “It's not as it should be.”

Horse and rider had acquired speed, and they were now launched at a gallop, kicking up sand and dust, an ochre spray of it that peppered the air. The knight lowered his lance as he prepared to aim.

Gwen scooted closer, the pleats of her regal dress brushing against his thigh. “I'll admit to loving Merlin myself.”

Arthur saw that Gwen hadn't understood the full implications of what his feelings entailed. He supposed she was just so righteous and honest she couldn't even conceive any betrayal on his part. “It's different; it's...”

“Did I tell you that I kissed Merlin myself once?” She tilted her head once so he could see the spark in her eyes. It was mischievous. “Granted, I kissed him when he'd just regained consciousness after the poisoning incident, so there was a lot of relief mixed in. But I also had fancied him a good while before that.”

Arthur coughed violently. He did that at the same time the Camelot knight rose in his stirrups, his mount's hooves smacking the hard ground with war-like tempo. “What!”

Gwen chuckled. She applauded as the knight jammed his lance straight through the ring. “I hope you won't begrudge me that.”

Arthur spluttered. He only acknowledged the knight in the lists once he had made his way back to the starting point. “Of course not, but--”

Her voice was soft and thus not audible to anyone but him, when she said, “I think I can guess what you feel for Merlin. Some of that I felt too at one time.” Her gaze swept inwards, as she continued. “He's a good, empathetic man, with a lot of mettle, and a gentle nature.” She sighed a little, wholly contemplative. “I'm not in love with him the way you are, nor ever was--”

Arthur made a noise as if to interrupt her, but Gwen warned him off with a look.

“But I can see the appeal and, because I know you would never trifle with either my feelings or his,” Gwen said, giving him a gaze full of warmth, “I give you my blessing.”

The knight in the lists got away with his second ring, his effort greeted by clapping and cheering. In view of Gwen's words, Arthur could hardly pay attention. “But--”

“It won't affect our marriage in any way, Arthur,” she placed her hand, on one of whose fingers a ruby matching her dress shone, on his thigh. “I want you to be as happy as can be.”

Arthur studied her for any signs of lying. He wouldn't want Gwen to force herself to concede so he could be happy. But he saw none. Her eyes were clear, her expression serene. She radiated love and affection. Arthur felt his heart expanding in his chest. He was sure he didn't deserve such joy, such people in his life. The mere thought of the possibilities relieved him and filled him with a willingness to do his best by the people he loved most. “Guinevere...”

She squeezed his thigh. “Just let me in on the fun from time to time.” For the first time since the conversation had started, she acted as if she was flustered, “If Merlin's all right with including me, that is.”

The Camelot knight flicked his lance and centred the ring for the third time. There was an explosion of cheering from the gathered spectators and Arthur stood up to clap, for the honour of Camelot, and out of true gladness.

**** 

The weather was louring. Low, grey clouds banked together over the close horizon line. They looked fat with snow and a little ominous. The sun must have hidden behind them, but of it, there was little trace, save for the cold white light that lit up the world around them as if from behind a screen. The hills were shrouded in a white undulating blanket, snow lying soft on the ground, its layers only compact along the beaten track; drift banks of two or three feet lying elsewhere along the sides. Trees' upwardly trained branches frosted, as if waiting for this spell of fiendish weather to wane in order to be able to seek the warmth and life giving sun light of spring.

Nature meanwhile hushed; hardly a noise to be heard but the clop of their mount's hooves and the hiss of the wind that teased at their clothes, finding the chinks in their armour of wool and cloth. Merlin had got out his scarf and tied it in generous loops around his neck. To ward off the cold, he had also opted to wear a cap with silly wide flaps that came down like a pointer's ears. It reportedly belonged to Gaius. He looked ridiculous for it, even as it partly concealed his reddened nose and half frosted lashes, but Arthur hadn't the heart to tell him. Not when Merlin was so taken with regaling him with tales of this village he'd once travelled through.

“It's not much to write home about,” Merlin said, as he tried to adapt to the pace his horse had set. “You can tell it used to be a grander place, there are ruined villas and the remains of what used to be a sewage system.”

“This is all very interesting, Merlin.” Arthur kept on checking Merlin's riding technique. It was still very lacking and Arthur told himself he would have to make of Merlin a better rider. “What you're not telling me is why we're heading there.” He wanted to do well, but it was a particularly cold and uninviting day. “What makes this village different?”

Merlin turned his head so he was looking at Arthur and not where the horse was going. “Nothing much. It doesn't benefit from trade, and it sits a little too close to Essetir for comfort. You know how Cenred used to be.”

“Had a tendency to raid border areas.” Though Cenred was now dead, Arthur still hated him. He shouldn't. A good and fair knight shouldn't bear grudges, not after a foe was defeated, but he still instinctively raged every time he thought of Cenred. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, there's that,” Merlin said, clacking his tongue at his mount. “Many villagers fled because of the risks involved and most haven't returned.”

Arthur was already making plans to remedy the effects of Cenred's inroads and of the mass dereliction of the area. It wouldn't take a day, but the sooner he got started, the better. “I see.”

“And it's not just that.” Merlin bowed his head and his back tensed. “It was like that before Cenred arrived on the scene.”

Arthur spurred his horse just a little, so he was riding level with Merlin. “What do you mean?”

Merlin gave him a speculative glance. “The first time I stopped there I was on my way to Camelot.”

Arthur made a swift calculation. “That was more than seven years ago then.”

Merlin hummed his assent. “When I stopped there, the village was already badly off.” He paused, his gaze wandering across the frozen countryside. “It wasn't just the ancient Roman buildings and public works that were decaying; some of the damage was recent.”

“And you're positive it was not Cenred?” Arthur supposed that if it wasn't, then it was some or other of his cronies. None of them knew what nobility was; they just took what they wanted and razed down everything and anything in their path.

“No.” Merlin's hands tightened around the reins. “It was Camelot men.”

“What.” Arthur pulled his mount to a halt. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin also lulled his horse into coming to a standstill. “In this village there was a midwife. She was a good, respected midwife. But something went wrong. She delivered twins, helping the mother with her herb lore. The birth was a difficult one, and nobody believed mother or babies would survive.”

“But they did.” Arthur was sure he had guessed right.

Merlin confirmed this with a little nod. “Because she had pulled off an impossible feat, she was accused of being a witch.” Even in the glacial morning light, Merlin's face grew shadowed. “Word of this got to Camelot and Uther ordered she be found and executed.”

Deep in the pit of Arthur's stomach something gave and he felt almost sick. “Did she...” He hesitated even as he realised that he should have the courage to say the words. “Was she taken? Did she die?”

Merlin patted his piebald's neck. “No, she fled. But half of the village was burned to persuade others to reveal her hiding place.” Merlin's voice grew more level, grittier. “To no purpose, because nobody knew where she'd gone.”

Arthur had no words. This was how things had been, how things still were in part. There was a lot he wanted to say to Merlin. He wanted to explain the facts of the matter. But he didn't know them himself, not in so far as it touched this particular circumstance. “I see.”

“After that the place changed,” Merlin said, scanning the horizon, his voice mingling with that of the wind. “Some of the merchants, whose homes and shops were burnt, moved away, looking for a safer place. And so did many of the wage labourers who had no tie to the land. Apparently the place was cursed.”

Arthur could picture how it had gone down. What had become of that village after his father was done with it. And yet he couldn't blame Uther. He could only blame himself. Only because he had known nothing of the specific order and had still only been a prince then, it didn't mean he wasn't responsible. “I would have spared the village,” he said, trailing off because he realised that declaration of intent was probably insufficient.

Merlin looked at him sideways. “I know.” As they came to an incline, he kneed his mount forwards. “And I know what a difference you can make there.”

Lost in thought, Arthur followed Merlin up the path. The incline gave way to a level plain covered in snow. In some places both plough and wheel tracks were still visible, but mostly a uniform white blanket enveloped the whole quiescent countryside. Tree stumps had almost disappeared under mounds left over by the preceding night's blizzards, even animal burrows lay hidden to sight. It was all so desolate but not unappealing.

At last, they came upon a frozen lake and on the other side of it lay the rest of the path together with a few wooden constructions that looked skeletal in the distance.

Wary, Arthur and Merlin dismounted and tried the ice. Long thin sheets of ice formed above the water in dull slabs. They seemed stable enough to support them.

“It's solid,” Merlin said, looking down at his boots, which he stamped on the ice. “I think we can cross.”

Arthur's mind was still on the village that was their goal, and on its past history, his responsibility towards. So he only checked cursorily, and then pronounced the path across the lake viable.

Viewed from this unusual perspective, the landscape was in a way enchanting. Silent and muted yet beautiful in its very stillness. The pearlescent candour of the immobile lake rivalled that of any jewel. Silver and platinum paled in comparison. Trudging across the ice, they stood at a lower level than that of the road. Underneath their feet, they saw dead vegetation shift under the ice cover, moving in streams they could not sense but that yet animated even this sleeping habitat. Nature was a mystery men weren't allowed to penetrate, sombre and magical, mystical and whimsical.

Leaving prints like cuts in the glassy surface, the horses stomped along quietly, producing little crunching noises that seemed louder for lack of any counteracting sound.

“I wish I had a sleigh,” Merlin said, even as he conducted his piebald across. “I've never ridden in one.”

Arthur tsked. “Let us not be fanciful, Merlin.”

“I heard that King Lot makes use of them.” Merlin argued on, his tone merry, not really intent upon making a point, but on ragging Arthur.

As he thought of a response, Arthur helped his uneasy mount across the lake. “King Lot rules over Lothian. It's quite another matter there, for the weather's harsher.”

“It's not mild here,” Merlin said.

He was nattering on, as was his wont, as a crack resounded. Zig zag fissures appeared across the lake’s surface and before Arthur could shout, tell Merlin not to move, the ice broke and Merlin fell in. As he did, the force of a suddenly risen wind pushed Arthur and the horses backwards, virtually saving them.

Pale and open mouthed from shock, Merlin tried to push towards the edge of the fissure, but his teeth clacked and he failed. He kicked; Arthur could see he was moving the dense water around him. But by the time Arthur regained his feet, Merlin had bobbed under the surface twice, splashing and flailing as he attempted not to sink again.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, proceeding at a pace that would allow the ice to hold even when he wanted to race and rush. “Hold on, I'm getting a rope.”

Merlin made noises that couldn't be compared to words. He was pale as a sheet, and his clothes were darkening the more they absorbed the glacial water.

Arthur grabbed his horse by the reins. He could see it was spooked, that it had a will to retreat towards the safer environs of the shore. With soothing words, he calmed it somewhat, and managed to reach the saddlebags, which he searched for the item he needed.

As soon as he got the rope, he dashed towards Merlin, towards the fissure, where the ice was thinner. He heard it groan and sing under his boots, but he didn't stop to look down. He needed to get to Merlin and any hesitation could cost his servant his life. Even so, he was careful as he crouched down by the rim of the fissure, for, if it gave, he'd end up in the water too, and from that position he couldn't help Merlin.

“Come on,” he said, holding out the rope. “Come on, Merlin. It's right close to you.”

But Merlin went under once again.

Arthur's heart lurched. He yelled Merlin's name, all his anguish in the sound. When no sign of Merlin appeared, fear gripped Arthur's insides, the idea he could lose Merlin terrified him more than that of death. He stood, lost his chainmail, and wrapped one end of the rope around his waist. He was about to jump in, when Merlin resurfaced, eyes glinting golden as they reflected the sunlight. He was whiter than the ice around him, and he barely even lifted his hand to grab at the rope. But, somehow, he got hold of it.

Arthur didn't wait a second more than was necessary. He pulled and heaved. Somehow it felt like shifting a sack of hefty stones, for Merlin was scarcely collaborating, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. But Arthur still succeeded in hauling him and pull him on firm ice.

Merlin was breathing as if he had run a marathon and trembling wholesale. Arthur gathered him to him and tried to work some warmth into him. He felt cold to the bone, his teeth chattering and his body following a similar rhythm as it shook.

Arthur cradled him, willing his own warmth into him. Merlin attempted to talk, but what he said was utter gibberish. Arthur shushed him, changed positions so Merlin was sitting in the space between his legs, his head against Arthur's chest. Arthur rubbed Merlin's hands and held on tight. “Come on, Merlin,” he said, “this is nothing.” He didn't believe his own words, but he felt they were his only means to control the situation. “Just a dip in fresh water.”

“M-m-muttonhead.”

A modicum of relief washed over Arthur. If Merlin could summon the wit to insult him, then he wasn't too badly off. That didn't mean, of course, that he was fine. Arthur kept hugging the life out of Merlin, doing his best to cause his body temperature to rise. “I'm not.” He said even as he tried to concoct an action plan. They couldn't stay here at the mercy of the elements. Merlin needed blankets and a fire and some of those concoctions Gaius made that helped with everything. “You know you can't insult your king, Merlin. It's not done.”

Merlin muttered another insult. Arthur wasn't sure which one that was or if it was even in the dictionary.

“Come on, Merlin,” he said, as he tried to stand while hauling Merlin to an upright position. “We need to get a roof over your head.”

“C-can't it wait?” Merlin was heavy in Arthur's arms. It was as if he couldn't carry his own weight. “I'm fine here.”

“Right.” Arthur wasn't even replying. He needed to sort this out. Besides, Merlin wasn't paying attention, wasn't with him anyway. “Let's get you on horseback.”

“N-no, thank you.”

Not listening, Arthur picked Merlin up. Sodden as he was, he weighed more than he normally did and Arthur staggered for a moment. Now, Arthur had never doubted his own prowess, but for a moment he did wish he was Percival, able to carry the full weight of a grown man without batting an eyelid or slowing in his steps. Encumbered, Arthur readjusted Merlin, who complained, though again not so much in words as by means of a few testy noises.

So ballasted, he led Merlin to the horses and helped him into the saddle of his own. Merlin could barely sit. His muscles were tightening from all the shivering he was doing, and his hands were colder than before. A touch of ice.

Arthur needed to be swift about this. Merlin needed a refuge, a change of clothes. A fire. Arthur tied Merlin's horse to his own saddle horn and then mounted behind Merlin. The moment Arthur had taken his place behind Merlin, Merlin let himself lean against him in utter abandon, his head lolling forwards. Arthur read it as a show of trust, and that tugged painfully at his heartstrings. No matter; he needn't fear. He would get Merlin shelter and Merlin would be fine. He was young and strong. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.

With a click of his tongue he spurred his mount to a walk, Merlin's mount moving with them. Arthur couldn't increase their pace; otherwise they would lose the piebald. But that didn't mean he wasn't counting the seconds till they found sanctuary.

“There are buildings there,” he told Merlin, inviting him to look in the direction of the little conglomeration of constructions situated north of the lake. Since they couldn't outright cross the expanse of water, it would take them the best part of an hour to reach them. But at least they'd have cover. “You just need to hold on a little longer, and then you'll be as warm and toasty as a chick in the coop.”

Merlin didn't reply and that wasn't good news. Merlin was always sure to have a retort, and if he didn't, then he wasn't alert enough to think. Worry gnawing at his consciousness, Arthur made for the buildings he had sighted. As he approached them, he was able to count them. There were three – a barn and two other outbuildings – and all of them were in a state of disrepair. Arthur hoped they were sturdy enough to house them for the time needed. He wouldn't want them to fold on their heads.

Once they got there, Merlin was almost totally unconscious. He had even stopped shivering. Arthur tied their horses to a stile and helped Merlin down. He grunted, but his eyes stayed closed. Well, better than no sign of life whatsoever. He half carried, half helped Merlin into the second of the buildings. He had chosen it because it had a roof and, standing behind the barn as it did, it was more sheltered than the other two.

Inside there was almost nothing, so that Arthur couldn't even guess the purpose of the construction. He laid Merlin down so he was sitting up against one of the poles that kept the architrave beams aloft and aright. “Wait here,” he said. “I'm going to fetch blankets.”

Merlin made a sound.

Arthur hurried back outside. Not knowing how much time they'd have to spend on their mission, they had taken with them blankets and a change of clothes. Before setting out, Arthur had not suspected they would have to sleep rough, but it turned out they now would, and what they had would have to do. Once he had part of the contents of the saddle bags, he returned to their refuge.

Eyes shut, complexion icy, Merlin had curled his knees towards his chest. He looked badly off, but at least his moving was a sign he wasn't too far gone. Hopefully.

“I've got warm clothes for you.” Arthur knelt by Merlin's side and pawed at the tunic Merlin had brought with him. It wasn't much to write home about. It had no visible holes or tears, but that was about it. The material was flimsy and worn. Well, it wasn't as if they could choose. “Come on, into them.”

Arthur stripped Merlin of his still wet neckerchief, jacket, and tunic. The weird head gear he had lost in his underwater dive. His torso was wan and chalky, which he'd expected, and showed more scars than Arthur knew how to account for. He didn't dwell on that now, for there was no time, and needed rather to chafe some warmth back into Merlin, before replacing his layers with new ones.

Now the breeches. “You'll forgive me.” Arthur was a reserved man. Despite having trained as a knight and being used to seeing naked men at camp, he wasn't accustomed to actually looking at such states of undress. He never let his gaze linger; he didn't allow himself to make considerations. Both because that way laid temptation and because he was royal, and as such, he'd always kept himself at a distance. But now, because Merlin needed him and because he wanted to help, he had to perform this office. God knew he felt no distaste. If anything, he was doing something he had once or twice day-dreamt about. Not that his fancies included nearly freezing to death. Besides, he wouldn't entertain any now because Merlin was unwell and there could be no room for anything that wasn't what was strictly needed.

“Don't be a dead weight, Merlin,” he said, as he tugged off Merlin's boots, trousers and small clothes. Possessing a lithe body, Merlin was well formed, pleasing to look at. But he was barely responding and panic made Arthur's motions brisker, less gentle than he wanted them to be. All he was left with was a vision of momentary fragility that made his heart break. “Come on, you're a strong man, Merlin. You can't let a bit of water tame you.”

Merlin muttered a few recognisable insults. Arthur was heartened by that. It was stupid really that Arthur should rejoice at that, but they had come to this pass and Arthur supposed he had long ceased to pull rank with Merlin. “Tell me more.” Arthur let sarcasm tinge his words because it was what they were wont to do. He hoped his taunting would cause Merlin to react, fight it out. “Tell me how you don't respect royal authority at all.”

Merlin's eyes flashed, his eyebrow twitched.

Manhandling Merlin, Arthur dressed him with his dry change of clothes. Once Merlin was more or less clothed, Arthur covered him with one of the blankets from the saddlebags. Then he slid behind Merlin, so that his back was to the pole and Merlin was cradled between his legs. With his arms, he encircled Merlin, locking his hands together.

“I didn't know you knew how to tie laces,” Merlin told him. “Improvement.”

“I can dress myself quite easily, Merlin.” Arthur found dealing with fitted jerkins a little irritating, but Merlin didn't need to know that. “I have a servant because it befits my station.”

Merlin chuckled and coughed because he'd chuckled. “And here I was thinking you kept me by your side because you liked me.”

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin. He felt as though by virtue of keeping him as close as possible, he could shield him from any worsening of his condition, as if he could heal him. He didn't have that power, of course; no one did. But he could do something for Merlin. He could be honest for once. “That is not actually...” He licked his lips. “...untrue.” Well, he'd gone this far, he might as well continue. “I do keep you by my side because I like you, Merlin. In fact, I keep you there because I'm fond of you.”

“Encouraging,” Merlin said, the word punctuating by more coughing.

Merlin was right. This, too, didn't cut close enough to the truth. Where was Arthur's courage now? Where was his bravery? He'd always considered himself a valiant man, but here he was scared of telling the truth because he didn't dare face the consequences. He didn't dare play with his own heart. He didn't dare change things. What was he so afraid of? What would Gwen do in his place? She had encouraged him along this road. That he was aware of. What would Merlin do? Well, he would have the courage of his feelings. He would parade them without compunction. He would defend his right to them.

True, Merlin had an innate bravery, a fearless audacity that made him stand out from other men. It was one of the reasons Arthur admired him so, why he had kept wanting to know him better, why he had wanted him in his private circle. But Arthur wasn't sure he could equal that personal pluck. Fighting in a desperate battle came easier than this. Yet, by means of his avoidance he was selling Merlin short. He was imposing on him. He was deceiving him. And in that there was no honour.

“You do well to chide me,” Arthur said. “Because I'm not telling the whole truth.”

Merlin went a little rigid in his arms, as if he was bracing for some kind of unwanted revelation.

Arthur couldn't but hope it wasn't that unwelcome. “I'm more than fond of you, Merlin. I have feelings for you of... an unmistakeable nature. I trust you, I admire you, I respect you and I--”

“I was joking, Arthur.” Merlin shifted within Arthur's whole-body embrace. “I know you do have feelings.”

Yes, Merlin was. They teased all the time. But that was not the point, was it! Argh, Arthur just wanted to have it out and misunderstanding, putting spokes in his wheel, was just like Merlin. “We're not talking about that, Merlin.” Their rapport was best left alone. It was so natural, so instinctive, Arthur was glad of the way they interacted and wouldn't change it for the world. For Merlin was one of the only persons left on this earth with whom he could be entirely himself. For better or worse. “I'm talking about how I have come to love you, you dolt.”

Merlin remained silent.

This scared Arthur almost as much as witnessing Merlin's plunge into the ice had. Only this time it was Arthur's heart in for a cold shower. Merlin was always so garrulous; if he could find no words to answer Arthur's declaration, it was bad. There was no hope. Still, Arthur needed to be done with it, for light to be shone on this issue, or he couldn't live with himself a day longer. “And I don't mean it in brotherly fashion, or in the way of companions at arms.” There was some of that in what he felt for Merlin, to be sure. He'd gone through so much with him, fought through thick and thin, that he'd come to think of Merlin as the most valued of comrades. Despite Merlin's lack of martial knowledge, he confided in him more than he would his best knight. But his feelings weren't summed up by that. For a long time he'd told himself they were just mates with a special complicity. But it wasn't so simplistic and it turned out he had just lied to himself. Or perhaps equivocated, made things easier for himself. Or perhaps harder. “I have feelings of love and devotion for you, I long for you in the way I long for my wife--”

“Gwen,” Merlin said, body tense like a bowstring. “The Queen.”

Arthur knew what Merlin meant. He had thought the same thoughts himself. How could he reconcile the two? How could he satisfy love and duty? Society had made of his pledge a one way binding of the will, but human nature oftentimes exceeded the bounds created by custom and tradition. “Guinevere knows about this; she in fact encouraged me to reveal my, well, my feelings to you. That, of course, shouldn't feel like added pressure. She loves you too, but wants nothing but what you can give.” He paused. He had to tame his own desire, if it was what Merlin wanted of him. “As do I.”

Burrowing against him in search of warmth, Merlin settled more quietly in his arms. “I've always loved you, Arthur.”

Merlin said it with such simplicity, the way of it nearly bowled Arthur over. There he'd been fumbling his words, fighting to spit them out, and Merlin outdid him with his love declaration.

“I've felt it.” Because that was also true, wasn't it? He had always known Merlin wanted the best for him. “What I don't know is if...”

“If it's the same kind of feeling one would have for a spouse?” Merlin guessed.

Arthur nodded, resting his chin on Merlin's head. “Indeed.”

“I love you in all the ways a man can love another,” Merlin said. “With passion and longing, tenderness and affection. With loyalty and renunciation.”

“There is no need for that.” Thanks to Gwen, Arthur was now confident this could be achieved. Perhaps not many would understand it; and maybe it would be well if it wasn't advertised, but now he dared hope. “If you would ever want to, I--”

“If Gwen's all right with it.” Merlin turned in Arthur's grip. He was still pale but a blush had surfaced and stained his cheeks. “I would never hurt Gwen.”

“Gwen saw it before I did.” Gwen was wise as to the hearts of men. “We have her blessing as well as a request on her part to participate in our...” Arthur didn't want to spell it out. It didn't sound courtly.

But Merlin smiled and nodded. “I've always had a thing for Gwen.”

Arthur almost felt the sting of jealousy at that. Almost. Because he wanted to be centre stage with Merlin. But then he thought of his position, of the vows he'd spoken, and that jealousy seemed suddenly selfish and ugly and not worthy of the good man he wanted to be, for both Merlin and Gwen.

Leaning closer, pushing towards him, Merlin dispelled that cloud with the softest of kisses, a press of lips on lips that was both the purest, chastest thing, and a promise of more. Arthur returned that pressure with passion, letting out the long tamed longing he felt. He opened Merlin's mouth with his, felt the touch of his tongue, and the desire in his response, but he also knew it was too much too soon. Merlin was weak and tired and he needed rest and some time to think all of this out. So Arthur sweetened the kiss, cupped Merlin's cheek and said, “You need to recoup first. Get warm.”

“I'm fine,” Merlin said in a voice made rough by an incipient cold.

Reluctantly, Arthur slipped out from behind him and rose to his feet. “We need a fire.” He knew that Merlin would refuse one if Arthur said he was the only one to need it. He thought the plural would help Merlin accept Arthur's resolution. “I don't know about you, but my toes are freezing.”

Having a look around, Arthur realised he could use some of the displaced timbers that were strewn about the building, but that wouldn't be enough to build a decent fire. “I'll pop outside.” There was nothing else for it. “Don't you dare move! I'll be back in a matter of minutes.”

Merlin must have felt worse off than he was willing to give away, for he promised to stay put. Neither did he appear likely to shake his blanket off and wander about.

Arthur left the hut with only few qualms. Yes, Merlin shouldn't be left alone in the condition he was in, but it looked as though he could weather a short span of solitude. Beside he needed a cosy environment and without a flame to thaw by he wouldn't get better. In need of the materials necessary to build a fire, Arthur reconnoitred the surrounding area. Soon, he'd found some turf, moss, and flints. He wrapped these supplies in a kerchief, and wound his steps to the hut.

By the time Arthur was back, Merlin was half asleep, but not the worse for wear. Well, it was high time Arthur did something to improve the situation. As the morning waned and the afternoon deepened, temperatures would drop, and Merlin had already had the soak of his life.

He built up the twigs, leaves and moss he had found in a great big pile that was shored by the spare beams he'd discovered lying about in the hut. Some of the kindling was at first too wet to catch fire, but after he'd moved things about and three attempts with the flints, he succeeded in stirring a flame to life. He wasn't worried about the smoke, as there was a hole in the roof and the windows had no panes or hide panels. In a while the temperature in here would rise.

Proud of himself, he went back to Merlin and resumed the position he had occupied before, with his back to the post and Merlin in his arms. Merlin rabbited against him and fell promptly asleep, with Arthur giving in to a certain somnolence himself.

When he awoke, night had fallen, but the hut was warm and Merlin too, without, however, showing any signs of fever. Arthur felt somewhat restored himself and he let himself bask in a dose of moderate optimism. Merlin seemed to have withstood the plunge quite well and had not taken ill as a result of it. He had confessed his feelings and they had been welcome. They were alone together and had some time to clear matters up. And out there stars were shining and nature was being lulled into a quiet winter night. They were safe here, almost on a kind of adventure, and things were looking up.

Merlin came awake with a little snort and start Arthur teased him for, and he retaliated by calling him a series of inventive names some of which didn't even belong in a thesaurus. Arthur laughed and Merlin craned his head and leaned in for a kiss. He didn't ask first; there was no need to. For the first time they were on the same page about this, and this filled Arthur's heart to the brim with giddy gladness.

These kisses were soft and innocent, a pressing of lips on lips, of lips on chin and cheeks. They were a getting to know of each other; a way of exploring this new side to them. It should have felt awkward; as it was their first time together in this guise, because they had kept mum about their feelings for so long. Because Arthur had had to think this over for so long before coming to terms with it, with his view of himself in relation to Merlin. But it wasn't.

It was like coming home. It was like finding complete happiness. Meanwhile little fires burned under their skin, and their kisses became deeper, their hands moved with intent. Their breaths came out a little bit shorter; their emotions came to the fore.

Tongue touched tongue and breath met breath. Smile touched smile and their gazes found each other. Arthur used his hands to learn the imprint of Merlin's face again. He knew it so well. Eyes closed, he could picture it so perfectly, but this was a new way of getting himself acquainted with it and he found he wanted this too.

Merlin chuckled and answered him touch for touch. There could be no mystique about Arthur's body left for Merlin, who drew him baths, washed him, dressed him and undressed him every day, but yet his touch was as hungry as Arthur's, as questing as a knight's unveiling of his lady.

Little by little the range of their touches expanded. They didn't stop at kissing and probing, at sharing warmth and proximity. But they groped and prodded, their hands slipped under blankets and garment and found skin, newly warm skin, soft skin, sharp bone.

Skating his fingers under Merlin's shirt and up his spine, Arthur elicited a little shudder, a spark in Merlin's blue eyes that almost made them kindle like a preternatural fire. Arthur counted the notches he encountered, slid his palms upwards, and learnt contours of sharp bone and soft flesh. In return Merlin cupped his face, kissed him deeply, gentle and yet full of want. 

When they stopped for breath, Merlin turned fully, sitting so he was facing Arthur, who was up against the post, his legs widening around Merlin's body in their turn. Merlin smiled, and it was both shy and bold. He took off his shirt and reached for Arthur. Arthur scooted closer, palmed Merlin's throat and kissed the underside of his jaw, his shoulder, let his fingers find Merlin's flank, drumming alongside it.

As Arthur sucked at his throat, Merlin let out a shuddering inhale, a lusty intake of breath that was louder than the crackling of the fire burning in the hut, louder than the call of the nocturnal birds outside. He chuckled, put some space between them, then tugged at Arthur's doublet and tunic, willing them away.

As they busied themselves disposing of Arthur's top garments, their hands tangled and fought each other. Merlin huffed and Arthur teased, downplayed it, though he wanted to achieve nakedness as much as Merlin, though he desired to push things further with a burning desire.

But this was them and it was familiar in ways that belied the novelty of the situation. So he made faces that caused Merlin to smile, puff his cheeks, and shake his head. And then the tangle came undone, and they were both bare-chested and a little goose-pimpled, so they came together in an embrace that warmed them both, fired them both. An exchange of glances was enough to confirm what they wanted. They traded wilful determined kisses that mapped out their faces and upper bodies, which made them shudder and caused their breaths to hitch.

The tips of their fingers roved along the length of their arms, the top of their shoulders, the down sweep of their flanks or the top of their thighs. These touches were hungry, but also reverent. They would lead to more, it was inevitable, but they also showed their contentment with what they had now.

So they took a moment to just mutually look their fill. Now they could. Now that it all had come to the fore, it was allowed. They feasted their eyes, they let their gazes linger, keep the tally of their bodies. The tension between them rose, but they waited, filling their chests with much needed air, as they did something they had long wanted.

Then Arthur rose, shifted his weight, and undid his belt.

Merlin didn't lower his eyes. He lay sprawling on the floor, atop their discarded blanket, his gaze locked on Arthur.

Arthur felt all the blood leave his head as he understood the pitch and nature of Merlin's want, as he realised he was desired. It made him feel strong and proud, as he did in the aftermath of battle, but without the shame implicit in killing. But the heady onwards rush of gratification was the same.

They needed to get things going. He tossed his riding boots; he pushed down his breeches and small-clothes with a quick swipe, and left them in a heap by his feet.

And then he moved towards Merlin, almost straddling him, his own cock red and erect, doing away with Merlin's, rough-spun trousers, with his underclothes. They kissed, Merlin straining towards him, and then Arthur pushed Merlin down, sitting astride him, enjoying a moment of full body contact, before kissing his way down Merlin's torso. Merlin's chest heaved as Arthur licked and grazed his lips along a path of his own choosing, thumbs rubbing along his flank and digging into hipbones the lower down he went.

Merlin rested his head on the floor, staring at the ceiling, his breath coming quick now.

Arthur paused, gave Merlin a moment to adjust, and then he nosed downwards, tickling Merlin with lips and stubble, until he took Merlin in his mouth. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was probably not the best at this, a little clumsy, a little rough around the edges, graceless. He was the King, after all, had been raised with the expectation of ascending the throne, and intimacy such as this hadn't been contemplated for him. He remembered some fumbling youthful attempts, before Merlin, when he'd been a guest at a foreign court, with youngsters who weren't his subjects. But aside from that – and eyefuls he'd got of his men going at it during campaigns – he didn't have much to fall back on.

But with Merlin he felt he could have this. They had spoken no vows; it was true. This was outside the bounds of law and custom. But what he and Merlin had, he now fully believed, went beyond that, exceeded it. And even though he would never have toyed with rules and tradition in the past, he had learnt that life was more complicated than that.

So he gave it his all, sucking hard, and going breathless with it, running his tongue upwards and downwards, and helping himself with his hand and his spit, making it as wet and lewd as he possibly could.

Whether it was perfect or not it didn't matter, because Merlin looked and sounded as though he was enjoying it, panting, arching upwards, feeding him his cock as if there was no tomorrow. He was thrashing; he was mumbling.

Arthur had to pin him down so as to make his job easier, place one hand on his stuttering hip and hold, so he could work his lips around Merlin again and again, so he could lick and lap, go down on him, and come back for breath too.

He'd barely started again, when he found himself lapping up ropes of come. He coughed, bent his head, Merlin grabbed his face, pulling him up, so he could bury it in his neck. He eased him with gentle strokes of his hand on his nape, shushing him and thanking him.

But Arthur was still highly strung. Now that he was past adjusting to the taste of Merlin, he felt his own need much more keenly. He moaned. He rubbed himself against Merlin. He sought release by dint of accidental touches. But Merlin manhandled him so he could thrust against the inside of his thighs; creating more friction, more delight. But it wasn't enough.

Arthur knew they'd have more time and better supplies at the castle, but right now he wanted nothing more than to come.

It was as though Merlin had read his mind; as though he could tell by way of the hints Arthur's body was planting. But then again Merlin had a knowledge of him that was intimate, quite private, so maybe his guessing wasn't such a fantastic feat.

“Let me help, Arthur,” he said his voice a little hoarse, but full of love and encouragement. “He wrapped his hand around the base of Arthur's shaft, working his thumb around it. “Let me be there for you.”

Arthur was powerless to resist. He moved against Merlin's palm, sucked in small breaths that seemed to get him no sufficient air. His heart beat like thunder in his chest and he heard it in his ears, almost excluding everything else. As Arthur gave little pushes with his hips, Merlin stroked him slowly and thoroughly. 

It was heavenly, magnificent, and though there was an edge of pain to it, a hint of too much, Arthur wished he could feel this good all the time, that he could lie this close to Merlin all the time, breathing on his neck, feeling the warmth of his body, the touch of his hand, and the words of praise and devotion Merlin spoke ceaselessly.

But the human body had limits, and Arthur could not resist much longer, could not defer the moment indefinitely. He would strive; he would hold on to it, but he couldn't stop himself from getting close.

Primed, as usual, to respond to Arthur Merlin understood that too. With a few swipes, he increased his tempo, matching it to Arthur's needs, encouraging him throughout, tugging at him and milking him for all he was worth. Arthur moaned. He wasn't proud of making this much noise, of not respecting those royal rules of decorum that had been bred into him, but so he did. He keened, he breathed so fast it sounded as if he was about to pass out. And then a sense of bliss spread over him, a lightness and a joy, and gave in to his release just as Merlin tightened his grip. He worked him through the last stages of it, helping him Arthur out as he went through the spasm of orgasm, kissing his forehead and mumbling blessings in between.

After it was over, they lay tangled on the blanket, nuzzling each other's faces and easing each other into sleep and rest. The night was cold, and the fire barely sufficient, but, lying so close the night wouldn't be hard to bear.

When they woke, however, the sun was barely up and it was definitely colder. So Arthur made sure to better wrap their blanket around them. “Once you're all toasty, we'll ride back to Camelot.”

Merlin looked surprised. “What, no,” he said, brow creasing. “We're going to the village.”

“Merlin.” Arthur couldn't help the long suffering sigh he let out. “ Merlin, don't you think we should get back to Camelot and let Gaius check you up?”

Merlin shook his head, laughter burring out of his chest. “I'm fine. I took a bit of a dip. Dozed most of yesterday.” Memories of their encounter had to be trickling through his mind because his gaze became at once soft and lascivious. “I'm fine now. We can go.”

Arthur wasn't so sure. Merlin looked fine indeed now, but that didn't mean he mightn't develop a cold on the road, that that cold wouldn't turn into pneumonia. He'd seen men waste away for less. Granted, it was usually older people, but one never knew and he didn't want to risk Merlin. “That's it.” He climbed to his feet so as to make it final, an executive decision from Camelot's own king. “We're going to the castle.”

Outraged expression camping large on his features, Merlin rose too, making sure not to lose the blanket that covered his nudity. “Oh no. I'm fine, hunky dory. As good as new. You're not going to use my misadventure as an excuse not to complete your mission.”

Arthur's shoulders sagged. “I want to do my duty.” He didn't want Merlin to believe that he would fain desert it. “But you need a physician.”

Losing his blanket, Merlin bridged the distance between and grabbed his by the shoulders. “I know you want to do right. I know you want to improve the world. I never doubted you and I never will doubt you.” He kissed Arthur with such faith; it was as if he was the prophet of their love. “But stop mother-henning me and let's do what we came all this way to do.”

By now Arthur's knees had turned to jelly. With the morning it had almost been easy to forget how responsive Merlin made him, how he made him weak with desire and affection. It was a heady mixture, a rare elixir. “You're positive you're fine?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Merlin sighed and gave him a little push, so as to encourage him to get things done. “I'm doing great.”

As a matter of fact, there was high colour on Merlin's cheeks, a flush suffused his chest, and he looked active, alert, like a coil about to spring. So Arthur had no grounds to haul Merlin back all the way to Camelot. Above all, he was no mother hen, but a knight, a king. If Merlin said he was fine, then he would be reasonable and concede. (Though it would be just like Merlin to downplay his health if he thought the kingdom might benefit.) “All right, good, we're going to your mystery village.”

Naked as the day he was born, Merlin flitted close, stole a kiss, and Arthur had to amend his assessment of him. He wasn't just fine; he seemed happy.

****

They breakfasted on horseback on fresh lake water drank in pulls from their skins, winter berries and chestnuts. Though Arthur loved his creature comforts – and drumsticks in the morning – it was the best daybreak repast he'd ever had. And it was punctuated by banter, barbs and small talk, which made Arthur feel light about the chest, and whiled away the hours fantastically quickly. It might as well have been magic.

By mid-morning the road ahead stopped meandering and straightened right into the main thoroughfare of a village that had seen better days. Some of its houses, one could tell at a glance, had long been abandoned, showing signs of a fire that had blackened their foundations. Others lay in a state of disrepair. A few were occupied, sullen children sitting on the doorstep, careworn mothers bustling to and fro, their shadows often seen passing the windows. Of young, hearty, healthy people there was barely a trace. The majority must have left this village behind in order to ply their trade elsewhere.

Arthur now had visible proof of what waste his father's actions had wreaked. But he would correct this. He sent Merlin a glance full of determination and promise. He hoped he was understood.

Though only a few young urchins paid attention to him, Arthur mounted on a disused dais and started speaking. “You don't know me, for you've never set eyes on me before, but I'm your King.” This wasn't like talking from the castle's balcony. No rapt eyes looked up to alight on him; no conversation was hushed so that he might be listened to. “I haven't come here to ask for your fealty; to extort your allegiance, for I know the Crown has done little here to commend itself. But I have travelled this far for a reason.”

He now had the attention of a few old folk and some passing dotards. A bunch of urchins had stopped fooling around and were now lending an ear to his words. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning.

Merlin, too, standing to the side of the dais minding the horses, had noticed this and was now encouraging him on with a sign of his head.

“This township has suffered through the years because of the Crown's choices.” Now Arthur had a choice. He could lay the burden of all that on his father's mistakes or accept his own responsibilities. He chose what he thought of as the only viable path. “I shouldn't have let that stand. I should have taken steps to ensure your well-being long before this.” The boldest among the spectators that had previously gathered around the platform now murmured agreement. The sound was like venom poured in Arthur's ears, but he would have to stomach it. Wasn't he in charge of these people? Wasn't he their leader and accountable for their welfare? He was; so he'd have to take the criticism to heart. “I am sorry I ignored your plight for so long.”

A commentary rose from the mouths of the people who had now convened in the town's square to listen to Arthur's speech.

He braved it on, though he was burned by the unfriendly, hostile glances his spectators regaled him with. “I'm sorry I couldn't find a solution before this. But I have come here to remedy that, to help this village re-establish itself within the Kingdom's community.”

Merlin's eyes were now awash with tears of pride.

“I'm therefore going to grant this community a charter. This village will henceforth be a trading post.” It wasn't that far from the border with Essetir, so that seemed to make sense to him. “It will host a great market trice annually.” He heard approval pour from the mouths of his audience; precious few traders were left, but people recognised the advantages of commerce. He sensed the crowd warming to him. “Furthermore I intend to boost farming by inviting migrant labourers to this enclave. They'll receive a patch of unused land and a grant in exchange for settling here.”

The villagers showed confusion at this, but Arthur was confident they would understand once they saw how these measures would boost village life. “As regards those who fled on suspicion of collusion with a sorcerer, they'll be pardoned.” Arthur wasn't about to dig up ancient inquest documents and anyway suspicion was no proof. “They're welcome to come back here.”

His listeners didn't seem too happy with this last item, exchanging wary glances. But they welcomed the other proposals, so they acquiesced when it came to this one. Arthur would discuss this with his magnates and his Queen. He'd sound Merlin too, for he was perhaps wiser than the former, who were still steeped in the climate of terror his father had helped foster. He wanted to do what was best, improve on his father's rule.

Once his speech was over, Arthur mingled with the crowd. Some were indifferent to him and only marked his presence with passive glances. Others felt honoured by a royal visit and shook his hand and fawned a little. There was also a group of wary citizens who sounded him as to the truthfulness of his promises. They were not impressed, but Arthur hoped he would be able to change their minds.

When Arthur was done in the square, he was invited to eat with the village elder, a stooped man with a pointed beard that reached his chest. He and his wife and daughters had little to offer, but Arthur thanked them for the gesture all the same. Once he would have frowned upon the meagre repast, but not any longer. He'd learnt to recognise the toil and effort that went into the serving of such a meal, the hardships simple people had to endure in order to ensure they would be fed. And though his palate still couldn't be persuaded of the tastefulness of such food, he'd learnt not to pass comment. If his people were in such straits, he was the one ultimately responsible for it, so he now saw such manifestations of the dearth that plagues certain localities as a reminder of what was still to be done.

The elder had nodded off, and his family was clearing their plates, when Merlin said low and serious, “What about the original midwife who was labelled a sorceress, the one that caused the brouhaha?”

“She was accused of being a magic user.” Arthur chewed on some hard bread.

“I suppose I should change the question then.” Merlin toyed with his food, arched an eyebrow at it but that was rather meant as a stab at Arthur.

“I will look into it.” They both knew what they were talking about. Merlin did well to hold him accountable. “I will probe and question and try to gain a better understanding of the question. If she was innocent, but even if she wasn't I wager she did nothing wrong saving a life.” He took a drink because he felt he was parched. “As to the bigger picture, I can't promise to effect changes quickly, Merlin, but I promise you that I will do my best.”

Merlin's expression cleared of all doubt, of all sombreness. His eyes lit up with a light that lit him up wholesale. They were beautiful in a way that took Arthur's breath and his senses with it. “I believe you, Arthur.” Merlin drank a pull of his glass of well water. He managed to make it look tasty and refreshing. “You started out wanting to make people merry for Yule, and look at what you've done. Helped orphans, promised to refurbish a whole area in the old town, started out a revitalisation programme for this village.” When Arthur wanted to shrug it off, he persevered. “It's not little. I want you to know that, Arthur. I want you to know I have the greatest faith in you.”

Arthur believed him as he had never believed anyone else in his life. Not just because Merlin was convincing or because this was just what he longed to hear, but because he felt a connection to him that went beyond overthinking and beyond speculation. It was an instinct that drew him to Merlin, an innate desire to meet this person on equal ground and be worthy of his love and devotion. That notwithstanding, he didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to repay all that trust, so he was glad when the elder roused from his prandial nap and toasted him and his dynasty.

During his small acceptance speech, he still fixed his gaze on Merlin, silently promising him to live up to his expectations, and receiving in exchange unspoken vows of unmitigated love.

Because it was late by the time they were done with lunch and the attentions of the elder's family, they didn't set off for Camelot straight off. Darkness would only surprise them and Arthur wanted no more incidents of the sort they had already had. So they accepted the kind offer of a room underneath the eaves, which had used to belong to one of the daughters of the family, who was married off to a man from another village.

There was a double bed under the window, comprised of a straw mattress and a wooden headboard. It didn't exactly pass muster, but Arthur remembered to thank the elder for it. Merlin put his blanket at the foot of the bed. Arthur hoped it was just for show, so as not to advertise the nature of their relationship abroad. But he couldn't fully tell.

He didn't pull Merlin aside so as to be able to ask. Instead, they left the little house so as to tour the village and its vicinity. Arthur needed to know more about it, which areas were to be renovated and refurbished, which should be drained and reclaimed, which fields should be put to use and which to lay fallow.

Dinner came early because the family wanted to spare their candles. They didn't say as much but their behaviour was obvious. Arthur had little to complain about. He was tired from both the journey and the events of the day before. Besides, he found it hard to always have his royal facade on at all times, so retiring for the night seemed like taking a rest from such performances.

Merlin acted as though he understood. He didn't reprimand Arthur about his need to be alone for a while, but busied himself with their necessaries from the saddle bags, airing his change of clothes so his garments wouldn't smell in the morning, putting out and sharpening his razor so it would be ready for morning use.

“Are you coming to bed,” Arthur asked with more trepidation then he liked to give away. He now knew how Merlin felt about him, he could tell he was returned, but he had no idea what shape that would take in their daily life. Had Merlin shared his intimacy with him just that one time as a one off, a sort of accompaniment to his declaration? Or would he only share his bed when they were alone – while lost in the woods, or roaming the countryside? He wanted to be as open as possible about this, do what Merlin wanted. “It's getting late.”

It wasn't, not really, and Merlin arched an eyebrow. But he blew out the candle and climbed in bed next to Arthur.

“Maybe I'm taking things for granted,” Arthur started, staring at the ceiling because he'd rather avoid Merlin's gaze than face disappointment, a return to their previous relationship. “But--”

Merlin guided his face around and kissed him, open mouthed and soft, with quantifiably less hunger but decidedly more emotional openness than before. He told him words of love and made him promises that could only be equalled by those spoken in the marriage bed. Arthur's hand lifted Merlin's tunic, casting it off, and Merlin did the same for him. He heard Merlin's sigh when he placed his palms on him, resting them on the dips in his back. He released a breath himself when Merlin opened him with the hand-warmed remains of tallow grease left on a little dish.

They had hushed sex, not making a sound that would alert the household. They traded soft kisses and touched naked skin. They merged and parted in the slowest of rhythms, eyes fastened on each other in the dark, any lament silenced on welcoming lips.

Because of the quiet tempo, Arthur felt it all, to the marrow, and was sure there was no greater bliss on earth, no fuller joy to be had. In comparison, release almost paled.

When they were done and lay in each other's arms, and the sky paled, Merlin told him, “It's the Eve of Yule today, Arthur. The day before the great feast.”

****

The afternoon had almost waned and dusk had come, tinting the winter sky a precious violet no artist could imitate, the light ebbing into angry orange sparks, twilight shadows creeping around the castle's perimeter. Big mauve clouds looked heavy with snow but no storm had hit yet. Gwen knew there would be one. The stillness that surrounded Camelot was the one that came before blizzards.

She worried for Arthur and Merlin, out there in the wide world. They were a day later than they were supposed to be and at first she had not worried, for she knew Arthur for a capable rider and warrior, and Merlin for a trustworthy companion. But Arthur had promised he would be there for the great festivities and yet he wasn't.

A day's delay wasn't much in this weather, but really she couldn't stop conjuring dreaded scenarios featuring her husband lying broken at the side of a lonely road.

All morning, she had busied herself preparing the great feast, choosing the placement of garland arrangements, sending orders to the kitchen, directing the servants. No one had had a moment's rest but she had to admit the great hall looked splendid, and the entire castle festive. A leaping fire crackled in the great fireplaces, wreaths hung just about everywhere, and rounds of mead had already been distributed among the castle's workers. Everyone was as merry as the place looked.

Not she. She had wrung her hands and paced ever since she was released from her overseeing duties. She had skipped her meal and fretted all afternoon. And though she had kept herself as busy as she thought she had to be and had shown, as the Queen should, a stoic front, she couldn't lie to herself any longer.

She worried; she brooded. She put it out of her mind and then once again sank into disquietude. Climbing to the parapet had been the last resort. She had had to bundle up in order to withstand the lower temperatures up here, but she was repaid with a view of the main road leading to and from the castle. If Arthur came, he would take that road.

She was spying the stretch of it that dissolved into the horizon, when someone behind her cleared their throat.

For a moment, she'd hoped it would be Arthur. But it couldn't be. She'd have spotted him coming. It was a guardsman with the beginnings of a struggling moustache that showed just how young he was. Apart from his uniform cloak, he wore no other garment to ward off the cold. “Your Majesty, I couldn't help notice that it was getting chilly up here and the feast downstairs is about to begin.”

Gwen sighed. “I'll stay up here just a little longer.”

The young guardsman looked baffled. She could tell he wished to bring her inside, but didn't know how to put that into words. Should he defy her authority? Should he give her a sound piece of advice clothed in the blandishments of etiquette? Oh, poor, untried youth. She could see in what quandary she'd put him, but she had no wish to retreat just yet. “A while longer.”

He slid back into the tower doorway.

She had just turned, when she glimpsed travellers on the road. She made out two figures, one wearing a flowing red coat distinguishable from a distance, the other wrapped in clothes the colours of the forest. A spark of hope and joy kindled in Gwen's heart.

She pivoted, rushed past the guardsman, and took the stairs down at a run. Downwards she raced, her rich dress trailing after her in twists of crimson velvet. She reached a landing, but ran on, ignoring the astounded servants who she nearly bumped into. Another landing, she crossed a corridor and then found more stairs, which she took headlong.

Finally, she dashed past the hall and through the great doors and into the courtyard. Her breath was coming fast, and her chest felt tight, but it was worth it, because she was just in time. Two riders made it past a grand arch and into the quadrangle. The foremost rider greeted her with a raised hand. She lowered the hood of her red cape and smiled wide for her husband.

Grinning, Arthur dismounted and then Merlin, red-nosed and red-faced too. Arthur made it to her in three full strides, kissed her cheeks and lips and then summoned Merlin over. When Merlin joined them, Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, and pulled him closer, sharing a meaningful look with him, which Merlin returned full force, neither bashful nor unsure.

Gwen understood with the immediacy of lightning, and was glad. She was glad for her husband, because now he could have all that he'd ever wished for. She was glad for Merlin, who, with his loyalty and openness, was the best friend her husband could have. And she was glad for herself, for she wouldn't have to worry about the missing piece to Arthur's heart, and because she could now enjoy the embrace of her friend too, and welcome him to the innermost of their hearts.

She was so light of spirit; she went up to Merlin, pushed on her toes and kissed him fully on the mouth, as she had done once before, when they were younger. This time, though, it was a fully-fledged kiss, deep and lusty, full of good humour and joy.

And, he... he returned it, in the same vein as hers, his lips soft but responsive, his arms coming round her, his breath sweet when they parted, an impish grin curling his mouth.

They got each other. They had each other's back

Then she took their hands and led them inside, into the great all, where it was warm, the lavish decorations brightened the spirit, and the Yule feast was about to begin.

The End


End file.
